By evening, Satine and Obi-Wan had made it back to Sundari.
Obi-Wan went first to report the past several days’ events to Qui-Gon, and the two of them set about writing up their mission reports — the Council would need them eventually, after all.
Meanwhile, Murto Vizsla, still technically under watch, had already begun working Death Watch’s internal ranks on Kurt’s behalf — starting with men once loyal to Perlis Vizsla, then moving to anyone who’d soured on Tor Vizsla directly.
He reached out first to Perlis’s former chief bodyguard, now reduced to commanding a company stationed on some backwater world.
“How’s it going, Cousin?” Murto opened.
“Cut to it.
Aren’t you supposed to be attacking Sundari?
Since when did you go AWOL?” the captain shot back, half-joking.
“You don’t actually believe in bleeding for Tor Vizsla, do you?”
“I’d kill him myself given half a chance.
That animal’s dragged Mandalore back into civil war, had Perlis assassinated, and exiled his own son to die out there somewhere for good measure!” The mere mention of Tor’s name lit a fire in him.
“Kurt’s alive.
You and I both know it.
He’s Force-sensitive, and someone up top’s been keeping him alive.
I work for my nephew now — I’m pulling together everyone Tor pushed aside from the old chieftain’s faction.
You need a rallying point, and he’s it.”
“Then that’s good news.
He’s alive — that’s what matters.
What do you need from us?”
“Pull together everyone who’s turned against Tor.
Trap him on Mandalore.
Let Kurt beat him and take the chieftainship.”
“Consider it handled.
Perlis’s people are mostly stuck babysitting factories and mineral depots on the fringe worlds — small fish, none of them sent to the front.”
“Good.
That’s reassuring, at least.
Rally everyone under Kurt Vizsla’s name.
Once the fighting’s done, we round up anyone still loyal to Tor and deal with them after.”
“You don’t need to tell me that.
I’ll start reaching out.” The captain ended the call.
Once that was done, Murto sat back and weighed whether to contact the single strongest internal opponent Tor currently had — a man who, notably, had never belonged to Perlis’s faction at all.
After turning it over a while, he made the call anyway.
“Evening, Uncle.” Murto opened.
“So you survived the Sundari campaign after all.
I thought Pilich of Clan Rok was the only one who’d walked away from that mess.
Told everyone attacking Sundari was a bad idea from the start.” A man appearing perhaps thirty, though pushing sixty in reality, flickered to life in the holo.
“You’re right, Uncle.
This time, though, I found something interesting.”
“Let’s not dwell on what’s already happened — look ahead instead.
Don’t tell me you found the old chieftain’s boy.”
“Nothing gets past you, does it, Uncle.”
“Let me guess, then.
You want to rally internal resistance against Death Watch using Kurt’s name, and you’re calling me because you want me working as an inside man.
Should I say yes?” The old man weighed it aloud.
“Uncle, Tor’s broken every principle our clan ever stood for.
He’s not fit to be one of us anymore.
He didn’t even win the chieftainship through honest challenge.” Murto’s voice rose with conviction.
“He did break the Code, and yes, his claim to leadership was never legitimate.
Tell me where things stand with your plan first.
I’ll think about how I can help.”
Murto laid out the whole network he’d built inside Death Watch, and mentioned, in passing, that Kurt was also currently training under a Jedi Master.
“Good.
I’ll use the war council meeting to arrange things so Tor leads the assault on the capital personally — cutting his own fleet off from support.
I command the fleet on this operation, so leave the rest of the outer worlds to your contacts.
This has to work.
There’s no room for failure.”
A day later, the war council convened on Concord Dawn to finalize the assault on the capital.
Tor Vizsla stabbed a finger at Kurt’s holographic image, snarling.
“Ever since this brat showed up, our position in Sundari’s degraded every single day.
A month ago we got thrown out of the city entirely.
Who here has the confidence to actually kill him when we take the capital?”
The Clan Rok chieftain who’d fled Sundari earlier stood without hesitation.
“I have the confidence, Chieftain Vizsla!
Leave him to me!”
“I hope you don’t run home with your tail between your legs a second time!” Tor slammed a fist on the table.
“Understood!”
“Now — who leads the main assault on the capital’s city center?” Tor scanned the assembled chieftains and senior officers.
Clan Sax’s chieftain rose, volunteering.
“Let Clan Sax handle the main assault.
The other clans can cover the outlying sectors.”
I’ve always known Clan Sax’s people fight hard.
The rest of you take the other zones.”
“No, no, no, Chieftain Tor.” The old man who’d spoken with Murto the night before rose to his feet.
“You should lead Clan Sax’s assault personally.
This operation is far too important.
Taking the capital means we finally hold Mandalore for good — an operation this decisive deserves the chieftain’s own hand at the front.”
“He’s right!
The chieftain should lead this himself!”
“Absolutely — we’ve drawn down our defenses on every other world just to make this assault possible.”
“These two thousand were hand-picked from every outpost we hold.”
Every officer and chieftain in the room nodded along in agreement — all of them, coincidentally, men the old man had personally reached out to the night before.
Tor considered it, then nodded, satisfied.
“You’re right.
An operation this critical demands my personal command.
It’s better this way.”
“The chieftain is unstoppable!”
“When the chieftain draws the Darksaber, everyone will kneel before him!”
And just like that, the plan fell into place exactly as intended.
Over two thousand troops boarded Jehavir-class assault ships and a pair of Shadral-class troop transports, escorted by four squadrons of Kom’rk fighters, setting course for the Mandalore system.
Clearing the planet’s atmosphere, they punched their coordinates into the nav computer and jumped to hyperspace, bound for Mandalore.
On Mandalore, in the capital city of Keldabe, Kurt’s people had already received word that Death Watch’s fleet was inbound and were working frantically to finish setting up anti-air defenses, moving additional ground hardware into position, and evacuating most of the civilian population.
All that remained now was to let Death Watch walk into Keldabe — and finish them there, completely.
“If this works, the civil war ends here.” Satine had already put on her armor, gear strapped and ready.
This time, she intended to stand on the front line herself, alongside the fighters, to see the war through to its end.
“I’ll be right there with you, Duchess,” Obi-Wan said.
“Thank you, Obi-Wan.
How’s the injury?”
Watching the two of them fall right back into easy conversation — Obi-Wan even letting her check his wound — Kurt smiled and walked off, deciding against sparring with him after all.
A beskar sword against a lightsaber was too lopsided a fight to bother with.
Better to wait until he had the Darksaber in hand before trying that particular contest.
“Boss, everything’s set.
The rest of the fleet from Vadiira has landed at Keldabe, fully serviced and checked over.
Ready to launch on your word.” Omen came to report.
“Get every Wraith in the air.
Cloak and hold position.
The second their landing force touches down, we hit them hard.”